Secession: The Storm (43 page)

One of the orbiting squad cars stopped directly in front of the Texan’s refuge, the deputy inside patrolling with his windows down. Zach could hear the car’s radio blaring through the opening.

The cruiser’s headlight illuminated the base of a massive oak ahead, the driver mesmerized by the movement of what appeared to be an errant armadillo. Zach’s jaw dropped when he recognized Major Alcorn’s voice boom over the car’s radio, “The suspect is wearing blue jeans, a white dress shirt and possibly a western hat and boots. He is well over six feet in height with a muscular build and closely cropped hair. He is armed with a shoulder-fired weapon and handgun. He may attempt to identify himself as a law enforcement officer. We have reports that he has even flashed a counterfeit badge. He is extremely dangerous.”

Shit!
Zach thought.
Alcorn’s got the locals bamboozled.

The ranger’s frustration escalated quickly… and not only regarding his current situation. If Alcorn had alerted the entire state of Louisiana to his false report, Sam and Cheyenne’s chances of getting home had just plummeted as well.

The deputy continued rolling through the subdivision, evidently satisfied that the local wildlife that had drawn his attention wasn’t his fugitive.

A few minutes later, Zach’s situation degraded even further. One block from his position, he watched another cruiser pass under the streetlight, the words, “K-9 UNIT” boldly stenciled on the side of the passing vehicle. “Not good,” the Texan whispered, realizing the town wasn’t big enough to hide him from dogs, at least not for long.

For a bit, he considered retreating into the nearby woods, but that plan couldn’t stand up to the ranger’s scrutiny. He had no idea how deep, wide, or long the patch of foliage grew. For all he knew, there could be a bayou or state police post just on the other side of the tree line.

After verifying there weren’t any cops nearby, Zach slipped to the rear of the closest garage, staying low between the buildings. He almost tripped over the old push mower, the abandoned unit completely hidden by the darkness and knee-high weeds. He knew he needed transportation to stay ahead of the authorities. Carjacking sounded like his best option.

After momentarily cursing the old relic under his breath, an idea popped into his head. Slinging his carbine, Zach felt around for the tool’s handle, soon verifying that all four wheels were still intact. The simple machine moved easily.

He reached into the trashcan, pulling out a white bag of garbage. The refuse rested securely on top of the antiquated mower’s engine. Zach secured the handle upright using the trash bag’s ties.

Next was the tricky part. With his new yard tool in tow, Zach returned to his vantage point, trying to decipher the grid being used by the patrolling cops. He was halfway up a small hill, the slope steep enough for the mower to roll a considerable distance unencumbered.

When the road cleared of traffic, Zach crept to the middle of the street, pulling his makeshift diversion along behind him. Again, the area in front of his trashcan outpost brightened, the headlights of an approaching police car divulging its position. Zach estimated there were at least six units patrolling the small community, probably more on the way. He waited until the cruiser was just in the right location, aligned the mower as best he could, and gave it a good shove.

The machine hadn’t moved ten feet before Zach was diving back into his hiding spot.

He watched the little contraption rumble down the street, the white bag giving it a ghost-like appearance as it passed through the shadow of the streetlights. The cop saw it, too.

The deputy raced forward half a block and then stopped his car, exiting at the same time as drawing his weapon. The lawnmower had disappeared into a dark, shady yard, ramming into a thick line of landscaping bushes and vanishing from the lawman’s sight. Approaching with his gun drawn at the same time as radioing for backup, the deputy never saw Zach sneaking up behind him.

For just a microsecond, the ranger deliberated the value of introducing the lawman’s head to the butt of his rifle, but that course was dangerous. The local cop had no idea he was working for the wrong side, and it was extremely difficult to knock a man cold without causing long-lasting damage.

Zach chose a slightly different route, pressing the cold, steel barrel of his rifle against the deputy’s ear.

Normal human reaction was to the turn. Zach was ready, poking the lawman forward and off balance. “Don’t,” Zach hissed. “Drop the sidearm.”

The cop hesitated, at which point Zach’s boot struck out, impacting his captive in the back of the knee. The joint buckled, and the man went down with a groan. A half-second later, the ranger wrestled the pistol from the grip of the aching cop.

Next, Zach pulled the mobile radio’s plug from the battery pack on the officer’s belt, yanking the microphone from his shirt and pocketing the critical electronics. The patrolman’s Taser was next, Zach promptly pointing the disabling device at his captive’s leg and engaging the trigger.

Before the unfortunate deputy had even stopped vibrating from the current, Zach was sprinting back to the idling squad car. The ranger was behind the wheel and rolling away a moment later.

Zach estimated he only had a few minutes before the deputy recovered. Maybe a couple more before the officer flagged down one of his comrades. “Give me four minutes,” he whispered. “That’s a four-mile head start. That’s all I need.”

Zach’s instincts screamed for him to floor the cruiser and escape, but instead he advanced slowly toward the center of town, acting as if he were just another officer joining the hunt for the bad guy.

Two minutes had passed before he was on the edge of civilization, his boot pushing the gas pedal to the floor. Zach turned off the strobe lights, sure that any other responding units would wonder why his car was traveling away from the scene.

He was going over 100 mph at the four-minute mark, listening intently to the police radio for the announcement of his hijacking.

It was actually seven minutes before the near-panicked voice blared over the frequency, informing all responding lawmen that car number 115-8 now contained the fugitive. By then, Zach was looking for a side road that headed west and back to Texas.

The ranger knew all modern police cruisers were equipped with GPS tracking devices. It would take only few minutes more before the right people, with the correct passwords, could assemble at a computer console and begin vectoring the pursuit onto his stolen unit.

He spotted a country road heading in a westerly direction. Riddled with potholes, it was barely wide enough to accommodate the car, small limbs and weeds grabbing at the vehicle’s exterior as it raced by. About three years past the point where the gravel should have been topped off, a fine cloud of sediment chased him as he bounced along, but it was the best option available. “I’ll give it five minutes,” he speculated to the empty cruiser. “After that, I’m on foot and praying Texas isn’t too far away.”

He couldn’t speed as fast on this surface as the blacktop, the washboards and sparse stone layer limiting his pace. At four minutes, he spied a farmhouse and considered stealing another ride. He passed on by instead.

At five minutes, he slammed on the brakes, sliding to a halt alongside what appeared to be a thick wood. Zach popped the hood and trunk, quickly disconnecting the cables from both the primary and backup batteries. He wasn’t for sure if that would kill the GPS or not.

The pine forest he entered was difficult walking, every low-hanging branch and vine slapping his face or tangling his feet. He kept pushing, knowing distance was his opportunity for salvation.

He encountered the game trail less than 400 yards into the undergrowth, the general westerly direction servicing his needs. Initiating a slow jog, the ranger metered his stride, conserving his energy. He estimated it was just over 10 miles to the Texas border.

Relief recharged Zach’s spirit when he spied the power lines. The utility company had cut a swath through the underbrush and trees, the high-tension towers most likely heading to Beaumont, perhaps Houston. Zach increased his step, scanning his surroundings constantly, hustling for five minutes, hiking for five while he scoured for pursuit.

He happened upon the roadway, not sure if he had crossed the border or not. His feet were aching, legs tired, and throat dry. He decided to risk using the pavement, the early hour unlikely to produce any traffic.

The deputy was sitting just over a short rise, his car idling at an intersection as if he lay in wait of the inevitable speeder to blast past his position. Zach ventured close enough to identify the emblem on the side of the cruiser, recognizing the name of the county as belonging to the Lone Star State. “Home, sweet home,” he whispered.

Zach observed the unmoving patrol car for several minutes, finally determining the deputy inside was taking a nap.
Slow night,
Zach mused.
I’ll fix that.

Reaching in his pocket, Zach pulled out his cell phone and unwrapped the tin foil. Despite his exhaustion, he had to smile at Detective Temple’s antics. He found the number in his contacts, noting the 4 AM time and shaking his head at the need to make the call. He’d never dialed this number before.

The phone rang four times before the voicemail kicked in. Displeased, but not discouraged, Zach didn’t leave a message, but disconnected and then immediately redialed. A drowsy, male voice answered the second attempt. “This is Colonel Bowmark.”

“Colonel, this is Ranger Zachariah Bass, Company E. I have an emergency, sir, a situation that requires your personal attention.”

“Why are you calling me instead of your commanding major, Ranger?” growled the man who controlled the oldest state law enforcement body in the United States.

“Sir, my major
is
the emergency. The man has turned, sir. Gone rogue, and I can prove it.”

Zach’s accusation was unheard of in ranger tradition and lore. Not since the 1800’s had one of their own gone off the reservation.

“Son, you better have your shit in one single, neatly-packed bag before making that allegation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, I have multiple, direct witnesses that will testify Major Alcorn has been involved in extortion and kidnapping. Furthermore, he is the prime suspect in at least one murder.”

“And why are
you
making this
my
business at 4 AM, Ranger?”

“Because Major Alcorn is trying to kill me, sir. I need help getting in and didn’t know who else to call.”

“Where are you?” the colonel asked.

Zach watched the nearby deputy flash his headlights once, then a second time. Returning the cell phone to his ear, Zach said, “Thanks, Sheriff. Please make sure your man knows I’m walking in from the east.”

Despite the colonel’s attentions, it had taken almost an hour to roust the local sheriff, another 15 minutes before a radio dispatcher contacted the deputy Zach had been watching.

Strolling up to the patrol car, Zach nodded to the young officer behind the wheel and flashed his badge.
Sorry to interrupt your nap, buddy
, Zach mused.